


The Mid-Winter Feast

by glim



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8742742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: He tells Arthur it's only a cold, but Arthur knows Merlin too well to believe him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the mods for running this fest! And thank you to my beta reader <33
> 
> Written for the prompt - Arthur/Merlin - Hurt/comfort. Merlin gets pneumonia and Arthur is Concerned.

He tells Arthur it's a cold.

 

Even while he's coughing and sniffling and all-over miserable, he says it's a cold and goes about his daily business without much more complaint than to tell Arthur he's being a bother and to leave him alone. 

 

Which is exactly how Arthur can tell Merlin's not feeling well. Merlin with a head cold is a Merlin who is full of complaints. He complains about the sore throat and runny nose, and, after a couple days, about how he's completely stuffed up and headachy and prone to sneeze at inopportune moments. He'll grumble how he's tired and cold, and how Arthur forces him out on morning hunts and training sessions when he ought to be in bed so he can recover. 

 

"Except you haven't done any of that these past two days," Arthur says. "So it can't be a cold."

 

Merlin sighs and rubs his forehead. "It is. And I'm fine. What?" he asks when Arthur starts to nudge a goblet closer to him. 

 

"Drink it. It's still hot." When Merlin frowns at the goblet, Arthur picks it up and holds it out to Merlin. "It's the pear cider. You like that one." 

 

Merlin nods, frowns again, and coughs once, then again, into his shoulder. The sound is low and rough, and as if it hurts his throat and chest. He grips the edge of the table with one hand, and rests the other on his chest. For a moment, Merlin looks as if he's going to start coughing again; he tenses, and then lets out a careful sigh and relaxes. 

 

"Well, maybe sit down first, and then drink." Arthur pushes his half-empty breakfast plate away and pulls out the chair next to his. "Go on, then, sit. Drink."

 

Hand still on his chest, Merlin sits and lets out another sigh. He looks exhausted, and when Arthur reaches over to rest a hand on Merlin's shoulder, he practically sinks into the touch. There's a faint flush of fever over his cheeks, but it's the glassy look in his eyes and the fatigue that seems to inch through his body that strikes Arthur. 

 

Merlin takes the goblet from Arthur and drinks more than Arthur expected he would. He coughs again, though, and this time the spasm lasts until he's breathless and bleary-eyed. "Oh... sorry." 

 

"Are you really apologizing? Don't," Arthur says. He rubs Merlin's shoulder once more, then slips his hand to rest between both shoulder blades. "You didn't sound quite this poorly last night."

 

Merlin shrugs, but he can't argue with Arthur over this point. He probably couldn't argue anything, given how breathless and tired he looks. He does lean in closer to Arthur, and makes a small, grateful sound when Arthur pushes his chair closer to Merlin's so he can rub his back. 

 

The touch seems to help, however, and he sits next to Arthur, good and close and, and finishes the cider with slow sips. Arthur pulls his breakfast back towards him and eats while Merlin drinks. He offers Merlin some of his food, but Merlin refuses with a shake of his head, and settles in quietly next to Arthur. 

 

"I didn't feel so bad last night," he says after a decent amount of quiet time has passed between them, and finally rests his head against Arthur's shoulder. "Thought I could just get through this morning and then go back to my room and rest before tonight." 

 

"You're certainly going to rest." 

 

"--but tonight?"

 

"I don't think you're going to make it to the mid-winter feast tonight." 

 

When Merlin turns his face into Arthur's shoulder with such a disappointed sigh, Arthur cannot stop himself from pressing his lips to Merlin's hair, and then to his forehead to check his fever. 

 

"You could... you can just rest here. You haven't made the bed yet," Arthur adds, quickly, before Merlin can refuse. "So you might as well. I'm not sure you'd survive the walk to yours, anyway." 

 

Merlin holds back a cough, and then another, and moves away from Arthur to cough properly. The sound is rough and deep, and his shoulders shake each time he tries to draw in a breath. Arthur rests his hand at the center Merlin's back to steady him, and keeps the hand there until Merlin's breathing evens out and he sighs with exhaustion.

 

"Right," Arthur says, "bed, and have some more of the warmed cider. Maybe it'll help put you to sleep, if nothing else." 

 

Merlin makes a vague sound of protest, though it’s more a hoarse croak than anything else, and he turns his face back into Arthur's shoulder. 

 

Arthur allows him to sit thus for a few minutes, but nudges his head up when Merlin shivers. "Do you feel really wretched?"

 

Merlin shrugs, then shivers again and doesn't offer any more protest when Arthur urges him out of the chair and towards the bed. He doesn't protest, either, while Arthur tugs off his boots and his belt, and exchanges his clothes for one of Arthur's nightshirts. 

 

"That's better, at least a bit, right?" Arthur says. He brushes Merlin's hair off his forehead to test the warmth of his skin. He's still feverish, of course, but he's shivering less now that he's in bed under Arthur' sleep-rumpled blankets. 

 

"Much better. You don't need to--" 

 

"I know." But Arthur smooths the blankets anyway and strokes Merlin's hair again. "I am fond of you, you do know that?"

 

Merlin nods, and coughs, and then sighs when Arthur leans in closer to rest a hand on his chest. "I'm not that ill. Don't be an idiot," he adds in a smaller, hoarse voice, "I know." 

 

Arthur strokes Merlin's chest, then tucks the blankets over his shoulders. "Sleep, alright? And I'll send Gaius up to take a look at you." 

 

Merlin grumbles about not needing Gaius, and that he really only does need to rest, but he accepts more warm cider, drains the goblet, and curls up under the blankets. He's coughing as Arthur finishes dressing and preparing for his morning in court, but at least he's somewhere warm and safe, which, Arthur supposes, is the best he can do for Merlin at the moment. 

 

He quashes the pang of regret he feels when he has to leave Merlin, telling himself that is truly fussing too much over somebody whom the court assumes is merely his servant. But Merlin is more to him than that, much more than that, and Arthur leaves his rooms, reluctant still, only after Merlin dozes off. 

 

* * *

 

Merlin's dozed off again when Arthur returns a couple hours later, but this time he's propped up against a stack of pillows and a there's a panoply of medicines and remedies on Arthur's bedside table. There's a series of notes, too, detailing what they're each for, which Arthur assumes is intended for him to read. 

 

Merlin stirs when Arthur sits down on the bed, and gives him a bleary little look. 

 

"Go back to sleep." 

 

Merlin snuffles and coughs, and waits until Arthur's settled in quite close to him on the bed before he makes an attempt to rest again. He doesn't fall asleep, though, he's too coughish and feverish and congested, and instead he watches Arthur read the notes from Gaius. 

 

"Good mercy, Merlin, how did you not realize how ill you are?" Arthur looks at Merlin, and then shakes his head when Merlin just blinks at him, eyes fever-bright and face smudged with fatigue. "Next time you'll tell me immediately when you don't feel well. When you really don't feel well," he adds, when Merlin gives a cough of protest. 

 

The cough turns into a real cough, though, and Arthur fusses as much as Merlin will let him, and gives him some hot water with honey and herbs to drink when his breathing calms. He watches Merlin drink until he's finishes at least half the mixture, then Arthur lets Merlin droop against him. 

 

"You don't need to be in the hall?" Merlin asks after Arthur's settled himself down with the court business his father handed over to him earlier. 

 

"Hm?" Arthur glances at Merlin, then smiles at the worried look on his face. "Everything's ready, I don't think anyone will need me until the feast starts. And once the speeches are done and everyone's drunk, I doubt I'll be needed anymore." 

 

Merlin laughs, but laughing makes him cough, too, and Arthur makes him finish the rest of his hot honey water and take some of the cordial Gaius left for his chest. 

 

"I'll come back up here as soon as I can. What should I bring you? I can have a tray brought up to my rooms." 

 

Merlin thinks, and shakes his head and snuffles. "I'm not hungry..." 

 

"I know. But you should eat something besides broth and warm drinks. Fruit, perhaps? Baked apples and pears, and we have quince... Maybe some cakes?"

 

Merlin looks uncertain, but he nods, and curls back in close to watch Arthur read. He alternates between dozing off, watching or listening to Arthur read, coughing, and drinking all the warm drinks Arthur presses on him. 

 

He probably doesn't need all the drinks, and he probably doesn't need half of what Gaius has left him to take, and even Arthur suspects half those cordials are there to reassure Arthur. Not that Arthur is ready to admit it, for the worry that he feels for Merlin is beyond fondness and beyond affection. It's much easier to tell Merlin he's fond and to bring Merlin poached quince and almond cakes to eat tonight or for breakfast tomorrow than to try and explain the worry that twists inside him when he sees how the fever and congestion make Merlin too miserable to rest. 

 

Thus, Arthur sits with Merlin for as long as he can, and dresses himself for the feast while Merlin watches. Arthur makes his excuses at feast and leaves after the true revelry begins to return to his rooms with the promised dishes for Merlin. And, Merlin, though he is too ill to properly enjoy it, eats quince and cakes with Arthur in bed, and murmurs a few fond words about their mid-winter feast before falling asleep against Arthur once more.


End file.
